


Sugar Baby

by kissontheneck



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Gen, High School, M/M, Opposites Attract, Puppy Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9246632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissontheneck/pseuds/kissontheneck
Summary: David Archuleta is a good student, maybe the best student. It’s totally fine with him when he doesn’t have anyone to partner up with for a group project in home economics; he's secretly thankful that he’ll have total control over everything. Yep, everything was going swimmingly until David Cook walked in the door.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that stemmed, I think, from a late night convo with rajkumari905. (Even if it wasn't late night, she does deserve credit for most of the craziness in this, and that it's somehow 16,000 words long -- she's a professional cheerleader, tbh.) I pulled this over from LiveJournal, where it was posted more than a year ago, but I hope it still holds up.

David’s daily routine never changed. It never changed because he never let it change, because his routine worked. He got up at the same time every morning. No matter how he felt, he pushed himself out of bed. He went for a run, even if he didn’t feel like it. He took a shower, got dressed, had some breakfast, kissed his mom on the cheek, and arrived at the bus stop at 7:20 every morning to catch the 7:25 bus to school.  
  
His life ran like clockwork, which he liked. He was never late and never forgot anything. Chaos was not a part of his life vocabulary.  
  
Monday had been a day just like this. Monday was the day when everything changed.  
  
At 8:00 on the dot (David secretly loved that school started at precisely 8:00, not 7:50 or 8:05, but exactly 8:00), the bell rang for the start of first period. David, of course, was already in his seat at the front of the class with his notebook out and homework ready to turn in. Mrs. Green, his home economics teacher, made her way to the front of the class, where David had already noticed that her large project table was towering with five-pound bags of sugar. It wasn’t unusual to come into Mrs. Green’s class and discover such things because she was always coming up with creative projects for the class to work on.  
  
"All right," Mrs. Green said, starting to hand out thick instruction packets. "Today we'll begin the project I was hinting about last week -- everyone will find a partner and I'll adopt a sugar baby out to you. You'll have the sugar baby for four weeks, during which time you must care for the baby, make sure it doesn't get injured, and keep a journal about the challenges you've faced." She paused as everyone in the room groaned. "Yes, yes, I know. Just be thankful the school doesn't have the budget for those mechanical ones that can wake you in the night. Honestly, I'm doing you a favor. Okay, team up!"  
  
The room instantly turned to chaos as the popular girls flung themselves at the popular guys, the two-girls-David-thought-might-be-dating giggled at one another, and everyone else sort of relented to their nearby choices. David hated picking project partners because he wasn't outspoken or forceful enough, and like always, he found himself staring sort of hopelessly at Mrs. Green like a floundering fish.  
  
"David," she sighed, trying to keep a smile on her face. She rested her hand on his shoulder. "Care to take a stab at single fatherhood?" She lowered her voice and added, "I'll give you extra points for your trouble."  
  
David didn't know what to do except shrug and say, "Yeah, sure." Actually, being allowed to do the project alone would be okay; he wouldn't have to deal with a lame partner who just sat by while David did all the work.  
  
Mrs. Green opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by someone bursting frantically through the door.  
  
"Ah! Sorry, Mrs. Green, I overslept and -- are we baking today?" The newcomer's eyes scanned the sugar bag table as he whipped his messy bangs out of his face. David Cook had to be one of the coolest kids in school, but not in a captain-of-the-football-team kind of way. It was more of a C-plus-average-I’ve-got-my-own-garage-band kind of way, and although David hadn’t actually interacted with Cook very much, he felt a little uneasy. After all, Cook was routinely late for school, looked like he got dressed out of Goodwill’s dumpsters, and couldn’t keep his hair the same nonexistent-in-nature color for more than three days straight. If someone looked up “chaos” in the dictionary, Cook’s picture would probably be right next to it.  
  
"David Cook!" Mrs. Green bellowed cheerfully. "You're just in time. We were just picking partners for our next project."  
  
"Awesome," Cook replied, slinging his backpack onto the floor by an empty desk.  
  
"It seems everyone's gotten a partner already," Mrs. Green continued, "except David."  
  
"Yeah, sure." Cook nodded towards his classmate, and David suddenly realized what was happening. "What's the project?"  
  
In reply, Mrs. Green lifted one of the five pound bags from the table and cradled it into Cook's arms. "Congratulations, you're both fathers."  
  
David wanted to melt under his desk, and found himself sliding as far down as he could while Cook stared wide-eyed at his teacher.  
  
"Pardon?" Cook managed to say, blinking his long bangs out of his hazel eyes again.  
  
"All the instructions are here," Mrs. Green answered, handing Cook his copy of the instruction packet. "So I'll just leave you to it."  
  
Mrs. Green picked up another baby and carried it to the other end of the classroom where the head cheerleader and the basketball captain were groping one another.  
  
"Um, I missed something, didn't I?" Cook asked, slowly sinking into his seat.  
  
David couldn't speak. He just stared down at the paper in front of him, heart racing. The downfall of their project was already rushing through his mind. Why did Cook have to arrive at that moment? David had been homefree as far as control over his project had been, and then this had happened. A wrench thrown into his perfect comfort.  
  
"Let's um, it says the first thing we should do is open the attached envelope," David read quietly from the paper. Indeed, a small envelope had been taped to the sugar baby's bottom. "And find out the s-sex..." David swallowed hard and continued.  
  
David looked up timidly to find Cook grinning wolfishly back at him, his eyeliner-accented eyes squinting jovially.  
  
"David Archuleta," Cook said, gently resting the sugar sack on his knee. "Do you have a problem saying the word sex?"  
  
Just then, David was swallowed up to his eyeballs in reddening heat as David Cook barked in laughter.  
  


~*~

  
  
Because it was the first day of the sugar baby project, and because the class period had been mostly taken up with discussing rules and procedures, Mrs. Green let everyone put their sugar bags in their backpacks and not worry about suffocation or anything like that until they got home and were able to completely finish “birthing” their children. According to Mrs. Green’s instructions, that meant naming, clothing, and creating the baby’s hair, eyes, mouth, and other features, in addition to beginning to consider the baby’s personality and other attributes.  
  
Again, this would’ve been all fine and wonderful if David were doing this by himself. He’d just get a few markers and be done with it. But he wasn’t. No, instead he’d had a very awkward conversation with a cool guy he hardly knew after Mrs. Green had announced that the class period was almost up.  
  
“I can finish this when I get home,” David had offered.  
  
“Not by yourself,” Cook had replied, flipping his hair and looking hurt somehow. “You think you get to make all our baby’s choices?”  
  
The fact that Cook had said “our baby” made David choke on his tongue.  
  
“Well, I just didn’t want… to like, inconvenience you?” David had replied, knowing it was a ridiculous answer.  
  
“I know it’s awfully soon to meet your parents,” Cook had said absolutely stone-faced, “but we do have a baby together.”  
  
David would really need Cook to stop saying things like that if he expected to survive the next four weeks.  
  
Cook had band practice after school, but he promised to cut it short and head over to David’s as soon as possible. That had required David telling Cook his address, which he had temporarily forgotten for some reason and of course sent Cook into knee-bending hysteria. At least Cook was proving not to be the moody, angry, sociopath David thought all rock musicians were supposed to be.  
  
When David walked in the door, he was greeted by his mother who was passing by with the laundry. Out of habit he gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek, and she told him there were homemade cookies in the kitchen for a snack.  
  
Surprisingly, his sisters weren’t gathered around the kitchen island giggling at one another, though it was apparent they had been there if the plate smeared with cookie crumbs told him anything. Luckily, his mom always made enough for an army, so another plate remained, piled high with chocolate chip cookies. He poured himself some milk and grabbed a few of them with a napkin.  
  
At the dining room table, David began unloading his schoolwork, including the sugar baby. He’d been reviewing the instructions again when his mom passed through.  
  
“What is that sugar doing on the table?” she asked. “I thought I’d put it all away.” She was just starting to pick up the baby when David yelped at her suddenly.  
  
“Ack, no, Mom! Don’t!” Mrs. Archuleta stared at her son, clearly taken aback. “I mean… sorry, but that’s for a school project.”  
  
“Oh,” his mom replied, a smile returning to her face. “Sorry, mijo. What are you working on?”  
  
David fingered the thick paper flap at the top of the sugar bag. “Well, it’s a baby,” he answered simply.  
  
“Oh, the sugar baby!” his mom said, perhaps a little too excitedly. “I heard from one of the other moms that the project was coming up. How exciting! You get to take care of a baby!”  
  
Now that he thought about it, David had already taken care of plenty of babies, as he had three younger siblings. So this project was either going to be super easy or super irritating, he wasn’t yet sure which.  
  
“Yeah. Well, I’ve got someone coming over soon to help me… design… the baby. So…”  
  
“Oh, good,” his mom said with some relief. “You’re not a single dad. Oh gosh, I’m a grandmother!”  
  
Maybe David’s mom needed to be partners with Cook instead, seeing as how much more excited and crazy the two of them seemed to be about the whole thing.  
  
“Moooom,” David whined, just as there was a knock on the door. David froze. “Oh gosh!”  
  
“I’ll get it!” Mrs. Archuleta practically sang, and David didn’t have time to stop her from rushing out to the door. A deep sinking feeling seeped through his chest as he realized the effect David Cook was about to have on his clean-cut household.  
  
David had barely made it to the entryway as his mother opened the door. Though Mrs. Archuleta was very good at going with the flow without letting on to anyone that anything ever threw her off guard, David did detect a slight twitch in her eye upon seeing Cook filling her front doorway.  
  
“Hello,” she greeted kindly, but with slight hesitancy. It occurred to David that she probably feared this was one of Claudia’s crushes or something.  
  
“Mom, this is David,” David rushed in, practically pushing his mother out of the way. “He’s working on the project with me.”  
  
It was obvious that Mrs. Archuleta couldn’t decide if this was better or worse news.  
  
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Cook said, putting out his hand. Mrs. Archuleta took it, smiling.  
  
“Well, I’ll leave you boys to your project. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” David’s mom picked up her laundry basket and headed up the stairs.  
  
For three seconds, the boys stood awkwardly in the entryway before David remembered he should invite Cook in.  
  
“Um, we could work in the dining room, maybe? The table’s pretty big so we’ll have lots of space.”  
  
“Lead the way, my man,” Cook replied, hefting his backpack up onto his shoulder.  
  
David showed Cook to the dining room, telling him to make himself at home. Cook dropped his backpack and started to take off his jacket, but not without examining the formally decorated room at length.  
  
“Would you like something to drink?” David asked. “We’ve got, uh, milk, water… possibly soda, but if we do it’s caffeine-free.” The options sounded pretty horrible considering Cook was probably used to injecting coffee straight into his veins or something.  
  
“I’ll take my chances with the soda,” Cook answered. “Thanks.”  
  
David hurried to the kitchen, not wanting to make his guest wait too long. Luckily, they did have soda, but it was the last one, so he hoped his mom would understand since she was really the only one who drank it. He grabbed the milk he’d poured himself earlier and just grabbed the rest of the cookies that were left on the counter, balancing everything on a tray before heading back to the dining room.  
  
“Um, I brought cookies,” David said as his reintroduction to the room. Cook was just getting out his beat up notebook and folders.  
  
“You didn’t say there’d be cookies!” Cook teased, though David didn’t take it as a joke at first.  
  
“Uh, yeah, my Mom makes them for us sometimes. We’re lucky any were left.” David put the plate down in the center of the table and Cook carefully took one. It wasn’t until that moment that David noticed Cook’s nails were covered in chipping black nail polish.  
  
“What should we do first?” Cook asked, biting into his cookie. Crumbs tumbled down the front of his Ramones t-shirt, but David seemed to be the only one who noticed. “I guess we should open the envelope,” he added, shoving the rest of the cookie into his mouth before carefully pulling the green envelope from the bottom of the sugar bag.  
  
“Gah, I’m so nervous!” David replied, genuinely wringing his hands together.  
  
Cook gave him a puzzled look. “I can’t imagine why,” he said honestly.  
  
“What if it’s got like, I don’t know, diabetes or something!”  
  
Cook’s fingers stilled over the half-open envelope. “What? David, babies don’t get diabetes.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure they do!”  
  
“David, he’s _made_ of sugar!”  
  
“See why I’m worried?!”  
  
Cook sort of stared at David for a long moment and David realized he was maybe being a little neurotic. Not only that, but he’d promised himself that he’d try to be more cool about things, not because he himself cared about being considered “cool,” but rather because he knew Cook’s somewhat disorganized self would drive him to a panic attack before the end of the first week if he didn’t. He took a deep breath.  
  
“Sorry,” he apologized, his voice much more even. “I get a little stressed out by group projects.”  
  
Cook smiled kindly. “Don’t worry about it, bro. Everything’s gonna be fine.”  
  
Even though Cook was saying it, David didn’t feel so sure.  
  
“Okay, see, this is fine,” Cook said, pulling an index card out of the envelope. “Male, normal weight at birth, does not have diabetes.”  
  
Cook flipped the card so David could see it and for a half-second David expected it to literally say “does not have diabetes” on it. He sighed with relief.  
  
“Okay, next step,” he said, referencing Mrs. Green’s instructions. “Dress, design, and name your baby.”  
  
“Excellent,” Cook replied. “This is gonna be the best part.” He started pulling pens and pencils out of his backpack, though it really just amounted to two highlighters (pink and green, unfortunately) and a blue Sharpie.  
  
“I’ve got some colored pencils,” David said, pulling some out of his backpack. “We can probably find other things too as we think of them. My mom does lots of crafts.”  
  
“Cool,” Cook replied, uncapping the Sharpie. He squinted at the sugar sack like David imagined Michelangelo probably had at slabs of marble.  
  
Just then, because the Archuleta house almost literally couldn’t go twenty minutes without someone interrupting someone else, the two were joined by David’s nine year old sister galloping into the room.  
  
“What are you doing?” Amber asked, squeezing between the two Davids.  
  
“Amber, please, go play upstairs or something. We’re trying to study!”  
  
“No, you’re not, you’re coloring.”  
  
David wanted to protest, but Cook had just started drawing eyes on the sugar sack.  
  
“We’re not coloring, we’re--”  
  
“What color eyes should the baby have?” Cook wondered out loud, presumably to no one in particular.  
  
“I have lots of colors! I’ll go get them!” Amber declared, and without invitation she ran out and up to her room.  
  
“Great, she’s gonna bug us all afternoon now,” David grumbled.  
  
“She’s cute,” Cook replied. “Besides, I just have this Sharpie, that’s no good.”  
  
David watched as Cook added curving eyelashes, which actually looked pretty good. David couldn’t draw to save his life, so he was happy to let Cook take over on that front.  
  
“David! Did you take all the cookies out of the kitchen? Mom says you have to share!”  
  
Jazzy, David’s 11 year old sister, came storming into the dining room like a whirlwind. Immediately, she reached around her brother in an attempt to get at the cookie plate that still sat in the middle of the table.  
  
“Jazzy, stop! You guys already devoured half of them earlier, these are for us!”  
  
“Moooooom!”  
  
“Oh my gosh, Jazzy, okay!” David stood up and started pulling cookies off the plate and onto one of the napkins he’d brought. “At least leave us a couple.”  
  
“Jazzy, did you find David? I don’t know what he’s thinking--”  
  
Eighteen year old Claudia had now appeared at the doorway, hand on her hip. She’d stopped mid-sentence as soon as she’d seen Cook.  
  
“Calm down!” David replied, shoving the plate into his middle sister’s chest. “Can’t we just do some work in peace around here? You’re all making me crazy!”  
  
Jazzy, with absolute glee on her face and cookies almost literally in her heart, ducked around her older sister and raced down the hall.  
  
“David,” Claudia said, her tone changing dramatically. “You didn’t tell me you had someone over. You also didn’t tell me you knew David Cook.” She smiled sweetly and played with the ends of her hair.  
  
At the sound of his name, Cook looked up from his drawing, which now included a cartoonish smile. He flicked his bangs out of his face and smiled politely.  
  
“Hi,” he said, which seemed to be a relatively disappointing reaction to Claudia. David knew what she was doing though and couldn’t forget how boy-crazy she’d been lately. Anything less than a proposal from a boy seemed to be heartbreaking if recent overheard conversations with her girlfriends had been any indication.  
  
“Would you _go away_?” David practically bellowed. “We’re _working_.”  
  
“Let me know if you need any help,” Claudia offered, batting her eyes. “I’m always helping David with his homework.”  
  
Firstly, that wasn’t true and Claudia had gotten a B- in home economics if he hadn’t been mistaken. Secondly, he definitely wasn’t going to ask her for anything now for the rest of his life.  
  
“He doesn’t need you, Claudia, because I’m helping.” Amber had returned with an armful of art supplies that David wasn’t even aware she had.  
  
“I brought some paper and scissors and glue,” she said. “Also, glitter.”  
  
“Yes, glitter!” Cook replied, and Claudia scowled at the fact that Cook had reacted more enthusiastically to her nine year old sister than to her. “We could do a little glam rock thing with this kid or something.”  
  
David didn’t know what the heck that would entail, but he’d just about had it.  
  
“Would everyone get out RIGHT. NOW. Mom!”  
  
“Why is everyone yelling?” Finally, a voice of reason had heard his cries and come to his rescue: Dad.  
  
“Dad, everyone is bugging us.”  
  
“Okay, everyone leave these guys to do their homework, okay?” Thankfully, Claudia knew not to cross her dad and slinked out past him.  
  
“Amber…” Mr. Archuleta warned.  
  
“She can stay,” Cook replied. “She’s helping me pick a hair color and I value her opinion.”  
  
Both David and his father glared at Cook, who had both yellow and pink construction paper in his hands, while Amber sorted through a thick stack, pulling out more choices every once in awhile.  
  
“Okay, but you’ve got fifteen minutes before you have to come help Mom with dinner.”  
  
“Okay, Daddy,” Amber replied without looking up at him. She was too busy accordion-folding some green paper and cutting it into long strips. Mr. Archuleta left and David narrowed his brow at Cook and his sister.  
  
“What’s that for?” he asked.  
  
“It’s his hair,” Amber said matter-of-factly. She started testing different lengths on the sugar sack.  
  
“No, no, no, no, no,” David replied, irritated. “Babies don’t have green hair.”  
  
“They could!” she protested. She reached for some glue.  
  
“Amber…” David warned. He could feel his jaw tightening, even more so because he glanced up to Cook for some support, but instead found his classmate sorting through glitter pens, which made him feel even more uneasy.  
  
At this point, both Cook and Amber had started drawing on the sugar baby, essentially ripping all control out of David’s hands. If the shortness of breath he was feeling was any indication, he was probably moments from his mom driving him to the hospital for treatment of a heart attack.  
  
He watched in horror for several minutes as strands of the crinkly green hair were applied, to which Cook added several straight blonde pieces. The face had made it to a basic features outline before David’s mother could be heard calling his sister.  
  
“Amber! Please come help with dinner now!”  
  
David hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until that very moment. He let out a giant sigh as Amber left the room. He wanted so badly to ask Cook if he thought the glue had dried completely yet and whether they could get those green pieces off without ripping the bag open, but Cook had begun what could only be called styling the sugar baby’s hair. Maybe distracting Cook from the designing would help him regain a little bit of control.  
  
“Okay, so. What’re we gonna name this kid?” he asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.  
  
“Hmm, good question.” Cook didn’t look up as he glued a tiny rhinestone to the baby’s earlobe. David reminded himself to breathe evenly.  
  
“Right. Well, I like Jeremy,” David offered.  
  
Cook sort of huffed. “Jeremy? Boring. I was thinking like, Ziggy Stardust.” Cook flashed his hands in front of him as if describing the vastness of the universe.  
  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“Your sister left a glitter pen, I can just draw a lightning bolt across one eye…”  
  
“You’ll do no such thing!” David yelped, finally losing it and knocking the pen out of Cook’s hand. “Our baby isn’t a 70s glam rocker.”  
  
Cook pursed his lips. “Come on, Archuleta. It’s gotta be something catchy. Give him some character, you know? I know! Bocephus!”  
  
David glared at Cook. What was he even talking about? Bocephus? Was their baby some kind of backwoods banjo player? _What?_  
  
“Absolutely not,” David said sternly, crossing his arms. “Kids are gonna make fun of him at school!”  
  
“David, just how long do you think we’re gonna have this kid? We’re not sending him to college!”  
  
And suddenly, David felt really sheepish and ridiculous. He’d let his petty emotions get to him and he knew it.  
  
“Sorry,” he said in a more rational tone. “I get worked up sometimes.”  
  
_I get worked up sometimes if I feel like things are getting out of my control_ would’ve been the complete thought, but he was definitely too embarrassed to say that to Cook.  
  
Cook considered him a moment, then smiled. “It’s okay, I understand. Oh man, look at the time. I gotta go if I wanna make it home for dinner. Sorry to leave all this…”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” David replied, actually relieved that he’d have something to do himself. “I’ll clean all this up. You want me to finish it, or…”  
  
“Do whatever you want,” Cook reassured. “I’ll be cool with whatever you do. Again, sorry to leave your dinner table a disaster.”  
  
David could only manage to nod because he’d been left speechless from embarrassment. That and something about the way David Cook picked up his backpack, slung it onto his back, and ran his fingers through his hair made David’s insides seize up. Cook was definitely way out of David’s friendship league.  
  


~*~

  
  
The next day, David was almost too embarrassed to walk into class carrying Bocephus. He slipped into class and tried to hide the glitter-drenched sugar baby behind some books at his table.  
  
Mrs. Green picked up on it immediately, of course.  
  
“Ooh, David! Did you finish getting your baby ready? Can I see?”  
  
Of course, David couldn’t refuse his teacher and she’d inevitably be seeing Bocephus over the next four weeks, so he reluctantly pulled the sugar baby out where she could see him. A huge smile immediately filled Mrs. Green’s face.  
  
“Wow!” she exclaimed, poking at Bocephus’ weirdly colored hair. “I did not expect that. Great job, David. He’s incredible.”  
  
David was in shock. So much in shock that all he could manage to say back to her was, “His name is Bocephus. Cook named him.”  
  
Mrs. Green shook her head, apparently in disbelief. “You guys are doing an awesome job so far,” she replied. “Keep it up.”  
  
She wandered off and David felt more than just a little bit relieved. Glancing around, David figured out why she was so happy about it; regardless of Mrs. Green’s personal style tastes for babies, she had to also be glad that Bocephus was just overall better executed than almost everyone else’s sugar baby. Many of the class’s babies merely had marker drawn faces, maybe with some crayon hair if they were lucky. Other than the girl who had glued colored cotton balls to her sugar sack for hair, not many people had gone beyond basic drawing.  
  
When Cook arrived to class (remarkably on time), he couldn’t help beaming at Bocephus as soon as he saw him.  
  
“Hey, Bo,” Cook said directly to the sugar sack. “Hope you had a good night with Daddy.”  
  
David kind of cringed at the thought of anyone calling him Daddy.  
  
“Um, what are you then?” David asked, sort of fearing the answer.  
  
“Papa,” Cook replied easily. “Oh man, Bo is so cool, I can hardly stand it.”  
  
To David, Bo looked like he’d met with an explosion at a glitter factory, but again he felt it was better than a boring marker drawing.  
  
“Good morning, everyone,” Mrs. Green greeted as soon as the bell rang. “Now, today we need to talk about a few things. Schedules, for one. Remember that you need to log when each of you has your sugar baby in your group. It needs to be as fair as possible. Do not forget that if you go somewhere your baby either goes with you, goes to your partner, or you need to arrange babysitting.”  
  
David was dutifully writing down everything Mrs. Green said. After making a few more points, she let them work independently for awhile.  
  
“I’ve got church each Sunday,” David said, getting out a ruler to create a calendar. “I probably can’t take Bo with me.”  
  
Actually, he _could_ have, he just didn’t _want_ to. Talk about embarrassing.  
  
“That’s cool,” Cook replied. “You can drop him off with me on Saturday night. Oh! But Saturdays the band has regular shows at the Lincoln House, so…”  
  
The Lincoln House was a kind of hang out place for teenagers something akin to a bar but without all the alcohol of course.  
  
“Okay, how late does that usually go?” David asked.  
  
“Like ten or eleven,” Cook replied.  
  
David stared. “We get up pretty early for church, I can’t be out at eleven taking Bo to you.”  
  
“You could bring him before the show?” Cook suggested.  
  
“But who’s gonna watch him while you’re on stage?” David asked, panic starting to rise in his chest. He didn’t completely like the idea of Bo sitting around somewhere with musical equipment just waiting to be knocked over and destroyed.  
  
“Hmm,” Cook hummed, thinking. “Oh! My mom will totally watch him. Just take him to my house whenever.”  
  
David let out a breath. “Okay, good. Make sure you double-check with her.”  
  
“Gotcha.”  
  
David felt a little anxious that Cook wasn’t writing any of this down. Unfortunately, the bell rang before he could express any further concerns.  
  
“Don’t forget your first assignment that’s due tomorrow!” Mrs. Green shouted over the gaggle of students fighting for the door. “You must do it together, so find time to meet after school or online!”  
  
“See you after school, Archie?” Cook asked, picking up his things.  
  
“Uh, what?” David asked, taken aback. “What did you call me?”  
  
Cook grinned. “Archie. Do you like it? From Archuleta.”  
  
David wasn’t sure, but didn’t have time to think too long on it. He merely nodded and then said, “Yeah, see you later at my house?”  
  
Cook ran his fingers through his hair, nodding.  
  


~*~

  
  
Mrs. Green had given a mountain of assignments for the sugar baby groups, one that was due nearly every single day. And so, nearly every single day, David Cook showed up at the Archuleta house, ready to work on their shared assignments while being bombarded by Archuleta family members left and right.  
  
Claudia couldn’t keep her nose out of the dining room to peer at Cook at least once a day. Daniel had decided he should start incorporating Cook’s style into his own. Amber had decided that she and Cook might as well be getting married for as much as she enjoyed talking to him. (David had to admit that Cook was pretty great with little sisters.) And day after day, David Cook became more and more a part of the Archuleta family.  
  
“Can you believe Mrs. Green gives us so many assignments?” David asked one day, sorting through a new packet they had to complete. “It’s intense!”  
  
“Parenthood is intense,” Cook replied as he helped himself to some milk and one of the brownies that Mrs. Archuleta had left for them. “Obviously all these assignments are meant to be done together because raising kids is meant to be done together. Every day.”  
  
David looked up at his partner, sort of surprised by such an intelligent answer.  
  
“Could you just write that down so we can use it later?” David asked.  
  
Cook shrugged his shoulders, apparently unaware that David was totally serious. David put down his pencil and regarded his partner curiously.  
  
“Don’t be offended by this, but what grade are you getting in Mrs. Green’s class right now?” David asked. He kind of wondered if Cook’s demonstrated intelligence matched up with his actual school work.  
  
Cook didn’t seem fazed one bit. “Um, I think a C. Not bad, I guess, since I’m late all the time.”  
  
It nearly broke David’s brain to think Cook was fully aware that his tardiness affected his grade so much, but he didn’t do anything about it.  
  
“Why aren’t you ever on time?” David asked innocently. “Like, can’t you get up earlier?”  
  
For the first time ever, Cook diverted his eyes away from David as if embarrassed. He picked up another piece of brownie and shoved it in his mouth. David, not one to push someone who was clearly uncomfortable, tried a different approach instead.  
  
“I just wonder,” he said carefully. “I guess… I guess I don’t actually know very much about you.”  
  
Cook dared to glance up, his temporarily jet black hair hanging over one eye.  
  
“Okay, well,” he answered. “What do you want to know?”  
  
David couldn’t think of anything good, of course. What he really wanted to do was ask terribly personal questions that explained all of Cook’s off-the-wall behavior. But because he was an absolute coward that way, he took an entirely different direction instead.  
  
“What’s your favorite color?”  
  
“Are you kidding me, Archuleta?” Cook, thankfully, was half-grinning.  
  
“Sorry! I just -- I don’t have specific questions, I just… don’t feel like I know you. You’ve been to my house like every other day the last two weeks, so I think you get the gist of my life.”  
  
“Are you saying you want to come over to my house?” Cook asked. For the first time he seemed genuinely surprised, like he hadn’t expected such a request.  
  
“Uhm, I mean, I wasn’t getting at that exactly, but -- ”  
  
“Tomorrow we’ll go to my house,” Cook said with finality. “No problem.”  
  


~*~

  
  
For some reason David felt weird going to Cook’s house the next day. It might’ve been because it was a new place (David sometimes had problems with new places) or that he still felt badly about making Cook feel uncomfortable about his school habits. Either way, the feeling didn’t die down any as he approached the house with Cook’s address on it.  
  
Walking up the worn down front steps, David carefully knocked on the door and waited. A long moment passed in which David wondered if Cook had forgotten their arrangement, and he worried that Cook was standing at his front door right then too. Or maybe Cook had gotten held up at band practice after school. He knocked again.  
  
“Archie!” David heard Cook from somewhere above him. He stepped back and could see Cook hanging out of an upstairs window.  
  
“Come on in!” Cook shouted. “The door should be unlocked! I’ll be down in a second!”  
  
Even with permission David felt guilty just walking into someone else’s house. He stood in the entryway for a long time, waiting for Cook. The house was way smaller than the houses in David’s neighborhood, and clearly much older as well. In fact, David could almost see every part of the downstairs from where he stood, something that struck him oddly since he was so used to his house being so open and spacious. It was nearly claustrophobic.  
  
A few seconds later and Cook was bounding down the creaky stairway towards him.  
  
“Sorry,” Cook apologized immediately. “My little brother needed help with something and my mom’s still at work.”  
  
“Oh, is your dad away?” David had asked the question innocently enough.  
  
Cook took a second to answer. “My parents are divorced,” he said at last. “It’s just me, my mom, and Andrew.”  
  
“Oh, gosh, sorry,” David replied, cheeks reddening. Why he couldn’t have come to that conclusion himself before he opened his big fat mouth he had no idea.  
  
“No worries,” Cook replied, easily enough. “Um, the dinner table is kind of full of stuff at the moment -- Mom’s working on taxes or something. Wanna go up to my room?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” David agreed and followed Cook upstairs.  
  
At the top of the landing they were immediately presented with a series of doors huddled around a small open space that served as hallway, though no one could really call it a hallway at all. In fact, just having two people standing in the space proved sort of tight -- one could hardly turn around at all.  
  
“That’s my mom’s room down there,” Cook explained, pointing. “There’s Andrew’s room. Bathroom over there if you need it. Here’s my room.”  
  
Cook led David through a door covered in scraps of paper and magazine photos of rock bands David had never even heard of. Inside, Cook’s room had been painted a deep purple color, nearly black, and the poster decorating style permeated throughout. The room couldn’t have been more than ten feet by ten feet, packed with all sorts of musical instrument equipment, piles of clothes, and just about any other sort of junk a person would expect in a teenage boy’s room. The difference being, of course, that David’s room was always picked up and his bed made, whereas Cook’s must’ve been the example mothers were thinking of when they compared their kids’ rooms to tornado disaster areas.  
  
“Uh, lemme just clear off my desk,” Cook said, relocating some books that had been stacked high on a small table in the corner. As he did so, David could hear the front door opening again, followed by Andrew racing down the stairs to greet his mother.  
  
“All right, what’re we looking at today?” Cook asked, gesturing to David that he should go ahead and sit at the desk.  
  
“Okay, we have an article to read about adoption in the United States,” David replied, pulling out his notebook and placing it on the desk. “Um, I think it covers a lot of demographic stuff, so we’re supposed to write a response about what we’ve read.”  
  
“Cool,” Cook replied. He started to say something else but was immediately interrupted.  
  
“David!” Mrs. Cook’s voice could be heard coming closer as she ascended the stairs.  
  
“Yeah?” Cook called back. The door to Cook’s room had still been cracked open, and Mrs. Cook pushed it a little more in order to peek in.  
  
“Oh! You have someone over!” she said upon seeing David there.  
  
“This is David, Mom,” Cook introduced. “We’re working on a project together.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, David,” Mrs. Cook said, smiling. She turned back to Cook. “Honey, I hate to interrupt you, but can you come help me real quick? It’ll just be a second. Sorry,” she added, apologetically.  
  
“No problem,” Cook answered. “We haven’t even started yet.”  
  
Mrs. Cook thanked him and immediately turned to go back down stairs.  
  
“Be right back,” Cook assured David, his hand on the door. “Hey, you want something to drink or anything? I think we have Sprite. Or water, of course.”  
  
“Um, yeah, Sprite’s good,” David replied. “Thank you.”  
  
“No probs,” Cook answered, ducking out of the room. David listened as Cook thudded down the stairs again.  
  
Once again David found himself idly looking around, taking in all the cluttery strangeness of Cook’s bedroom. He wasn’t used to walls being collaged to death by photographs and weird band-related logos and stuff like that. His mom would probably kill him if he tried that at home. He got up and took the few steps it required to go from one end of the room to the other, finally deciding to sit down on Cook’s unmade bed and wait.  
  
For some reason David felt really awkward sitting alone in Cook’s room. Well, David felt really awkward pretty frequently, to be fair, but this was different. This was like, butterflies different. Almost like singing in front of church anxious, but still not quite that. He’d already embarrassed himself a few minutes ago about Cook’s dad situation, so he was scared he would say even more stupid things soon and Cook would be offended and automatically declare him not his friend anymore and he’d never be able to go back to school ever again and his parents would have to send him to his aunt’s in Florida.  
  
Which kind of begged the question. Was David Cook his friend?  
  
Really, they were just doing this stupid project together, and in two week’s time they’d turn in their essays and have no real reason to ever talk to one another again. Other than the time they spent with the sugar baby, their lives were worlds apart. This reality sinking in suddenly made David inexplicably sad.  
  
“Hey, why the long face, Archie?”  
  
Cook’s reappearance startled David enough that he clutched his chest.  
  
“I, uh… nothing. Just thinking.”  
  
“What about?” Cook asked, plopping himself onto the bed next to David and handing him the Sprite he’d promised. “Like nuclear war or something? Because you look devastated.”  
  
Cook did his signature hair-flick thing and David thought he might throw up. He’d gotten along so well with Cook the last couple weeks that the thought that their friendship was probably on the downswing made every little quirk of Cook’s practically painful. He’d miss that, he realized, that hair-flip. And his stupid eyeliner and ripped jeans and that weird pink and blue stripe that went through the middle of his bangs (new since the day before). He still didn’t understand it, but he’d miss that too. And somehow, sitting there, he didn’t want to look at him anymore. Because every stupid inch of his stupid face just reminded him of the stupid reason they were even in the same stupid room together.  
  
“I’m sorry,” David said shakily, suddenly getting to his feet. “I’m not… I think I need to go home.”  
  
Cook cocked his head to one side, genuine concern overcoming him.  
  
“You okay, buddy?” he asked. He flipped his hair again.  
  
“I just… suddenly felt a little queasy, so… I’m sorry.”  
  
“David.”  
  
The latter half of the conversation had happened at David’s back because he’d already taken several steps towards Cook’s bedroom door. But at the sound of his name, at the sound of Cook calling him David instead of Archie, he’d frozen stiff with his hand lamely outstretched for the doorknob.  
  
“David.”  
  
Cook’s voice had lowered, but gotten closer. Rough, guitar-beaten fingertips touched his elbow, a feeling that was both pleasant and chilling at the same time. A warm brush of breath snuck across his cheek, and Cook had only returned to David’s vision for a second before his eyes suddenly closed. Closed, like a natural reflex or something. And a weird, soft, damp, tingling sensation met his lips, something he recognized as a kiss, but at the same time something he didn’t recognize at all. It didn’t last long enough for him to figure it out, and his eyes came open again to find two dark hazel ones looking back hopefully.  
  
David had heard of time standing still, but never understood it until that very moment. This moment when he’d forgotten words, like language wasn’t even a thing, and Cook must have too, and maybe he was being a little dramatic, but everything in the whole dang world was just really, really beautiful at this exact point in time of the universe.  
  
Hard knocking on the door made David nearly tumble over with fright into Cook’s arms.  
  
“Dave!” Andrew was shouting as he pushed open the door. “Time for dinner. This kid staying?” He stared between his brother and David.  
  
The half-cocky smile returned to Cook’s lips and he brushed his hair back, asking, “You wanna stay for dinner?”  
  
All David could manage to do was nod.  
  


~*~

  
  
On Saturday morning, David awoke feeling hungover, or at least how he imagined being hungover must’ve felt like. Blurry vision and a pounding head seemed like that fit the bill, in addition to being very disoriented to time and space.  
  
David Cook had kissed him, he was pretty sure. But it had happened so quickly that maybe he had actually imagined it. Either way, the feeling lay heavily in his chest that he didn’t mind the idea, which somehow felt conflicting at the same time.  
  
His mother must have noticed because she brought him an extra cup of hot chocolate after breakfast as he still sat there even after the rest of the family had abandoned the kitchen.  
  
“You feeling okay, mijo?” Mrs. Archuleta asked, pushing the hot chocolate in front of her son.  
  
“Yeah,” David said lamely, which was a lie of course. Mrs. Archuleta reached out to stroke his temple.  
  
“You don’t have a temperature or anything,” she observed. “Is something bothering you? Is it school? Is it a girl?”  
  
Gosh, if only it had been a girl. David hadn’t really spent a lot of time thinking about anyone romantically yet in his life, and now he was suddenly dealing with Cook apparently-maybe liking him and how he felt about that himself. It was terribly confusing.  
  
Luckily, another thing came to mind that he had also been thinking about since the night before, distracting him from his complicated feelings towards Cook.  
  
“Mama,” David asked, sipping his hot chocolate. “Are we rich?”  
  
Mrs. Archuleta looked mildly surprised by this question.  
  
“Well, not exactly,” she replied honestly, “but God has blessed us with many good things. Why?”  
  
“I just, I went to Cook’s house last night,” David explained. “Their house is so small and I don’t think they have a lot. I… I don’t know. I felt bad.”  
  
Mrs. Archuleta stroked her son’s shoulder, gently shaking her head. “You can’t feel badly about that, mijo,” she said. “The more important question is, are the Cooks happy?”  
  
David had to think about this for a second. During the course of the evening David had observed many examples of how the Cook family struggled to get by, how their dishes were mismatched and that their car wasn’t exactly new. He’d also learned that Mrs. Cook relied on Cook a tremendous amount to do things for her as she was constantly busy with work and keeping little Andrew in line. But were the Cooks happy? Well, despite all the things David had observed, the family still joked with one another, teased and poked, made fun of themselves even. Cook didn’t seem bothered at all to have to help out a lot at home, even offered to do things without being asked. So David felt he probably did know the answer to that question.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “I think they are.”  
  
Mrs. Archuleta was clearly happy to hear that. “Then don’t worry. I know we don’t always have the opportunity to interact with families like the Cooks,” she admitted, “but I’m glad you’re getting this chance now.”  
  
David felt exactly the same way.  
  
“Oh,” he said, remembering another thing he needed to ask her. “Can I get a ride to Cook’s later? I need to take Bo to him since we’ll be going to church early in the morning.”  
  
“How about this,” Mrs. Archuleta proposed, cupping one of David’s hands. “You can borrow the car and drive yourself.”  
  
David nearly spit hot chocolate all over the white linen table cloth.  
  
“What?” he exclaimed, wiping his mouth.  
  
“You have your license,” his mother explained. “Why not?”  
  
“Yeah, but you never let me drive anywhere unless I’m also doing an errand or taking Jazzy to soccer practice or something,” David replied in amazement.  
  
“I know,” Mrs. Archuleta said. “That’s why this is special.”  
  
Sometimes David didn’t understand his mother, but he decided to go with it.  
  
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, leaning into her shoulder. “You’re the best.”

 

~*~

 

At exactly seven p.m., David got the car keys from his mother and headed out to the family minivan with Bocephus in tow. He’d emptied an old messenger bag to use as a baby carrier, which he hoped Mrs. Green wouldn’t object to too much. He had to place Bo down inside of it a bit, which technically could’ve been considered a suffocation risk.  
  
The drive to Cook’s house took about ten minutes, and David couldn’t help himself from glancing over his shoulder several times at Bo in the back seat, making sure he was strapped in tightly. Finally turning onto Cook’s street, he was surprised to pull up to the Cook residence and find it fairly dark, with only a few low lights on.  
  
David gathered up all of Bochephus’ things and walked up to the front door, being sure to knock loudly. If he’d learned anything he knew that the Cooks were always busy in other parts of the house and it wasn’t always easy to hear someone at the door. About two minutes passed in which there was no noise. David knocked again but was met with exactly the same result.  
  
Immediately, David blamed Cook for not asking his mother if she could take Bo that night. It just seemed like exactly the kind of thing Cook would do. He knew he should’ve made Cook write that down and maybe even send him a reminder text. Dang it.  
  
Carefully placing Bo down on the porch, David pulled out his phone and tried calling the Cook’s house number. He could hear the phone ring several times before being sent to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message because clearly no one was at home. He then tried calling Cook himself at the Lincoln House.  
  
Cook’s phone rang forever before his voicemail picked up, and David couldn’t help but be a little bit snappy in his message.  
  
“Hey, I’m here at your house,” he said stiffly. “No one is here. Did you forget to ask your mom if she could take Bo? This really isn’t very cool, Cook.”  
  
After hanging up, David stood on the dark porch for several minutes, trying to figure out what he should do next. He supposed he could take Bo home and figure out how to take him to church with him. The idea just felt so embarrassing though that he wanted to think of almost anything other than that plan. He could drive around awhile and see if Mrs. Cook got home a little bit later. He could go get some ice cream or something. He could just wait there on the porch for who knows how long.  
  
Then it occurred to him. He could go to the Lincoln House.  
  
It wasn’t his favorite plan, but he figured it was the most efficient. There had to be a way Cook could keep Bo safe for half an hour while his band played their set. He picked up all of Bo’s stuff and headed back to the car.  
  
David had to look up where the Lincoln House was on the minivan’s GPS system because he had no clue at all where the place was. It wasn’t like David to hang out on Saturday nights with other kids in his town who were basically practicing to hang out in bars later on in life. It turned out that it wasn’t too far from Cook’s house, so David was thankful that he wouldn’t have to drive all the way across town again.  
  
Lincoln House turned out to be a pretty busy place, which actually made David feel more anxious than anything. Large crowds bothered him, and because he didn’t know where to start looking for Cook, he’d have to push his way past many strangers in his attempt to find him.  
  
He’d been carefully dodging energetic teens left and right for several minutes before he realized that the band currently playing was being headed by an awfully familiar face. David stopped in his tracks, suddenly awestruck by Cook up on stage, guitar in hand and completely blending into his element.  
  
“Hey, guys, we got one more song for you tonight before we gotta leave the stage,” Cook announced into the microphone. He was met by several boos of disapproval at the news they’d be leaving soon.  
  
“Don’t worry, the band after us is like, the best band in town,” he assured the audience. “We’ll be hanging around here for awhile anyway, so come talk to us. And don’t forget that we’ll be here again next week, and every week, so come see us again!”  
  
The crowd cheered and Cook’s band launched into their last song. David was kind of taken aback by it. He’d never really been into rock music, not the kind of crunchy, noisy, punk band kind anyway. But Cook’s band had a certain sound that teetered between that nonsensical racket and good, heartfelt music. David found himself enjoying it so much that even after only hearing the one song he felt extremely sad that the band would be leaving the stage.  
  
Then, after watching Cook and his friends start to take down their set, David suddenly remembered that he had to figure out how to get to him before they left. Cook had said the band would be hanging around, but that seemed worse since they could be anywhere. Gripping the messenger bag straps tightly, David pushed his way through the crowd until he managed to get to the side of the stage that Cook kept walking back and forth with instruments in his hands.  
  
“Cook!” David tried to shout over the chattering crowd and stock radio music that had started playing while the bands changed over. “David Cook!”  
  
Cook looked up, surprise already overtaking his face. As soon as he saw it was David shouting at him, his eyes went wide and he grinned happily.  
  
“Archie!” he exclaimed, jumping off the edge of the stage next to David. “You came to my show! I gotta say, I’m kind of shocked.”  
  
A chill raced down David’s spine as he remembered what had happened the last time the two of them had been standing so closely together. He hesitated a second as he got lost in Cook’s piercing eyes before he could regain himself again.  
  
“I didn’t come to your show,” David replied, remembering that he was supposed to be annoyed. “No one’s at your house. Did you forget to ask your mom if she could take Bo?”  
  
Cook had a blank expression for a moment as if he didn’t know what David was even talking about.  
  
“No, I asked her,” Cook replied slowly. “Are you sure no one’s there?”  
  
“I knocked twice and called the house,” David answered. “I told you to write it down or you’d forget.”  
  
“Archie,” Cook replied, eyes softening. “I did ask her, I promise. And even if I didn’t, I can’t think of a reason why she wouldn’t be at the house.”  
  
David felt a little bit badly, but at the same time this whole thing had become such an inconvenience that he couldn’t let it go that easily.  
  
“Well, anyway,” he said, pulling the messenger bag off his neck. “You’re done with your set so here’s Bo. I told you I can’t stay up too late.”  
  
Suddenly, the two were interrupted by one of Cook’s band members; David was pretty sure he’d heard Cook call him Andy a few minutes before.  
  
“Hey, sorry,” Andy apologized, bending down so he could talk to Cook from the stage. “But your mom called my phone like three times, so maybe you should check your messages, dude.”  
  
Immediately, Cook pulled his phone out of his back pocket and it occurred to David that even with it on his person he probably hadn’t been able to hear it during the show. That at least explained why David hadn’t been able to get a hold of him either.  
  
Cook wore a concerned look as he gazed down at his phone, the soft blue light illuminating his face in the half-dark of the club. David could see that Cook’s mom had called about a dozen times. Finally selecting one of the voice messages, Cook stood with one hand over his ear in an attempt to drown out the noise so he could hear.  
  
About five seconds in, Cook’s jaw went slack as his face drained of color.  
  
“I gotta go,” he said before the message had even finished. “I… sorry, I gotta go.”  
  
David tried to ask what was wrong, but Cook had already vanished into thin air.  
  


~*~

  
  
Sunday morning, David tried his best not to reveal too much about the worn out messenger bag he was suddenly sporting at church. No one really asked about it, thankfully, and he’d been able to prop it near his feet in the pew where he could still keep an eye on it. He definitely thanked God that day that Bocephus couldn’t actually cry or anything like that.  
  
But David’s perspective had totally flipped anyway. Something terrible had obviously happened to the Cooks and it killed David not knowing what was going on. As soon as he got home he tried calling Cook to find out if he was okay, if something had happened to his mom or something. He got no answer all afternoon, and after a while Cook’s mailbox was completely full. David couldn’t even leave a message.  
  
He completed their assignment for Monday on his own, putting both his and Cook’s name at the top. He began outlining their final paper which would be due soon. He cleaned his room, helped Daniel with some homework, washed the dishes, and volunteered to take the trash out even though it was Jazzy’s turn. But none of it distracted him from wondering what Cook was doing at the same time; probably nothing as normal as what he’d done all day.  
  
Monday morning moved slowly, and with a tremendous amount of solemnity he packed up his school things and Bo’s bag and headed out to the bus stop. He half-hoped that he’d see Cook there, though that didn’t make sense since they didn’t even live in the same neighborhood. Cook was absent from Mrs. Green’s class and David didn’t see him at lunch either. Part of him wanted to approach Andy and ask about Cook, but he never had the courage.  
  
By Tuesday morning, David was really worried. Not about the project or any assignments -- he could totally do those on his own if he had to. But he hadn’t heard from Cook, and Cook’s voicemail was still full when he called so he figured Cook hadn’t been checking his phone lately either.  
  
It came as a bit of a surprise then when at 8:23, Cook strolled into Mrs. Green’s class as if it were any regular day of him being tardy.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” he muttered as he slipped into his desk next to David. “I had to help Andrew get ready for school this morning.”  
  
David sat frozen for a long moment, first of all realizing that that had probably been the reason Cook was late every single day of the year; he had to get his brother to school because his mom left really early for work. But secondly, of course, David was completely surprised by this nonchalant entrance.  
  
“Where have you been?” David asked as the rest of the room was working in pairs. “I’ve called you like a thousand times. What happened on Saturday?”  
  
Cook closed his eyes momentarily as if gathering himself before looking up at David. Dark circles framed his tired eyes, and for once it wasn’t smeared eyeliner.  
  
“Um, my brother had to go to the hospital,” he answered quietly, absently fingering the corner of this worksheet.  
  
“What?” David said as loudly as he dared in the semi-quiet room. “Andrew? Is he okay?”  
  
“No,” Cook answered, solemnly. “I have another brother, he’s older,” he explained. “He’s married and everything. Anyway, he has brain cancer.”  
  
David might’ve fallen over if he hadn’t already been sitting down.  
  
“Oh my gosh!” David said, clasping one hand over his mouth. “What… is he… oh my gosh.”  
  
“He lives a pretty normal life,” Cook answered, apparently used to responding to such reactions. “Just, this weekend was a bit rough, so they took him in for some treatment. He’s okay now.”  
  
It didn’t seem to David like anyone with brain cancer could suddenly be okay after two days at the hospital.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” David replied. “Just… gosh.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Cook said again, looking down at his worksheet. “What’re we doing today?”  
  
David couldn’t imagine talking about anything else, but clearly Cook needed the distraction. It was probably why he was at school at all. And maybe Cook’s older brother _was_ okay, David didn’t really know anything about the situation after all.  
  
“Today’s topic is problems with childcare,” David answered flatly. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. We’ve gotten full points on everything, it won’t hurt us.”  
  
But Cook was already scanning the half-page of reading, underlining things as he went along. David couldn’t help but feel absolutely terrible.  
  


~*~

  
  
Cook couldn’t keep track of what day it was all week, which explained why he was surprised when Friday rolled around. One more day of school to get through and then he could just sleep the entire weekend away if he wanted to.  
  
And he did want to.  
  
Hearing Andrew crashing around in the kitchen, Cook forced himself out of bed and out of his room just in time to catch his brother lining up about five frying pans on the stove with a carton of eggs teetering awfully close to the edge of the counter.  
  
“What are you doing?” Cook demanded, rushing over to turn off all the burners.  
  
“Mom said I could make breakfast,” Andrew explained.  
  
Andrew was twelve, so it wasn’t totally insane to think he could do it, but Cook still seemed baffled by his decision to do this on a school morning.  
  
“Drew, it’s 7:30, we don’t have time for this,” Cook said sternly as Andrew’s face slowly drooped. “Besides, she probably meant like oatmeal or something.”  
  
“She said I could do it,” Andrew tried again, but his tone of voice showed he knew he’d been defeated.  
  
“Maybe tomorrow, buddy,” Cook offered, genuinely disappointed that he had to burst Andrew’s bubble. “You gotta get dressed right now.”  
  
“Mkay,” Andrew sighed, padding out of the kitchen in his too-short pajama bottoms.  
  
Cook shook his head as he started to put the pans away. As he placed the eggs back into the fridge he noticed a note his mom had left for him under a Mickey Mouse magnet.  
  
_Davey, can you please go to the grocery store after school and get some things -- list below. You can keep the change as always. Love, Mom._  
  
A twenty dollar bill had been attached to the note, and Cook shoved both items into his pocket. Luckily, he had nothing else going on after school that day, not even meeting with David. David had been panicky all week, jumping every second to relieve Cook of any work that had to be done. Cook had tried to resist David’s incessant offers of help until finally he agreed that they’d take a break Friday afternoon since it was the weekend.  
  
It’d been exactly the thing he’d hoped to avoid this year, however, the inevitable overcompensation of people feeling sorry for him because of Adam. He didn’t like special treatment and he didn’t like not pulling his weight just because his family had a few difficulties. Everyone had difficulties in life, so Cook didn’t see why he had to be treated any differently.  
  
Of course, the energetic compassion that came from David was hard not to appreciate, and it really warmed his heart that David plunged full-force into helping other people. David’s absolutely honest being was one of many reasons why Cook had dared to kiss him the week before.  
  
Which reminded him that they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it all, and by now Cook could only imagine that David was too freaked out to even think about it. It was probably for the best anyway; Cook didn’t need the added stress in his life at the moment.  
  
Getting Andrew out the door was difficult as usual. The kid was just too distracted by his random thoughts to get his shoes tied in a timely manner, and as usual by the time Cook gave his little brother a ride on his bike to the middle school, he was a half an hour late for school himself.  
  
For all of first period, David yammered non-stop about things that Cook couldn’t remember even moments later. The whole morning ended up being a total blur, in fact. Bo had been traded off to him and that was seriously all he could remember had happened all day. He vaguely understood that David would come by after church on Sunday to pick Bo up, and that was it.  
  
Thankfully, Cook remembered his mom wanted him to go the store, which took him a little out of his normal path home from school. She’d only asked for a few basic things, but Cook totally misjudged how all the items would fit on his bike rack along with all his school junk too. Arranging everything as well as he could manage, he hopped back on his bike in somewhat of a hurry, remembering that Andrew was probably already home from school and that he shouldn’t leave him alone for too much longer.  
  
Cook had had a paper route a few years back, which helped in deciding the most efficient way back home. He knew the streets like the back of his hand, so deciding to go down the busy Morrison Street was a no-brainer. He’d have to be careful, but it was definitely the quickest route back to his house.  
  
He’d been making good time, amusing himself by trying to recall all the families who lived on Morrison to whom he’d delivered newspapers as a kid when he rolled up to 17th Street, a green light in his favor to keep him sailing on through to home without having to stop.  
  
Suddenly, just as he started across the crosswalk, a car flew through the intersection without stopping at the light, causing Cook to slam on his brakes as hard as he could. Despite his best efforts, he could only swerve into Mrs. Calahan's rose bushes, sending his backpack and everything else strapped to the bike rack flying out into the street. The screeching tires and retreating engine sound told him that the driver hadn't bothered to see if Cook was alive or dead, but luckily he seemed fine other than a few scratches from rose thorns. As the irresponsible driver sped away, Cook got up, dusted off his shirt and cursed into the street.  
  
Turning, he first saw that the paint on his bike had been badly damaged. This alone angered him enough to yell because he’d custom painted the thing only a month before. But it took him a second to realize that everything he’d been carrying had fallen off the bike as well; his backpack, books, the groceries his mom had asked him to get, and…  
  
Grainy white sugar covered the street, sparkling like frost on a cold November morning. Cook stared for a long time, frozen in shock and unsure what he should do. His hand slipped into this back pocket, fingers gripping his phone. He’d navigated to David’s phone number but couldn’t bring himself to press “dial”.  
  
Little Bocephus was dead.  
  


~*~

  
  
Cook sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, brooding. He’d stormed past his brother, dropping what remained of the salvageable groceries on the dining room table and ignoring Andrew calling after him.  
  
“David, what happened? Are you _bleeding_?”  
  
He _was_ bleeding, but he’d taken the stairs two at a time up to his room, slamming the door behind him anyway. He’d been sitting on his bed for about two minutes (all the while ignoring Andrew knocking on his door) before it completely registered how much his head was pounding. He might have hit his head or something, and there was definitely a scrape on his chin, but the most terrifying thing was still the realization of what had happened, of what he’d done.  
  
And now he had to call David. Because the longer he waited the worse it would be. If nothing else, he knew by now that David would ask too many questions, like when it had happened and how. He could already hear David asking why he’d taken so long to call him, and it’d only been about thirty minutes.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Cook took out his phone again, attempting to reconstruct the facts in his mind. Ultimately, only a bag of sugar had been lost, not a big deal, right? It wasn’t _actually_ life and death. And Mrs. Green already explained that in case of a tragedy, there was an alternate assignment in order to still earn full points. So it wasn’t a problem. He just had to tell David that their assignment had changed.  
  
Except that David had cared more than anything for Bocephus and taken every detail with absolute seriousness. Again David’s number stared up at Cook through his darkening room and all Cook wanted to do was run away.  
  
He punched “dial” anyway. It only rang one and a half times before David answered.  
  
“Hi, I’m glad you called. I was just thinking that if I do the dishes for Claudia for a week she miiiight agree to watch Bo next Wednesday…”  
  
Cook sighed, casting his eyes to the ceiling. The rock and roll posters that papered the entire space didn’t help distract him from the inevitable news he’d have to deliver. David hadn’t seemed to notice Cook’s silence, however, and was still talking about mowing the lawn for Daniel as a part of his master plan of trade-off babysitting.  
  
“Archie.”  
  
“... and of course Mom keeps reminding me she’ll babysit anytime, but I don’t want to take advantage, you know? That seems responsible and --”  
  
“Archie.”  
  
“... but of course, I haven’t even thought about your family, so maybe I’m just overthinking it…”  
  
“DAVID!”  
  
Cook could only imagine the startled look that must’ve accompanied the sudden dead silence that fell on the other end of the line. He knew he’d been sharp, but there was just no other way to get that guy to shut up once he was on a roll.  
  
“Um, is something wrong?” David asked timidly.  
  
“Sorry,” Cook mumbled. “But yeah.”  
  
“What’s… what’s happening?”  
  
Cook sighed again, deciding he just needed to say it.  
  
“Bocephus is dead.”  
  
There was a beat, and then shuffling.  
  
“Wh… what?”  
  
“Archie, Bo is dead, I’m sorry.”  
  
“What are you saying?” David asked. It was apparent he was trying to keep it together, but his rising voice betrayed him.  
  
“I had to go to the store for my mom after school. So I was coming home from a different direction and had to go down Morrison, you know? And I forgot how busy it can be down there and I was coming through the last intersection when this asshole just flew through there and nearly ran me over. Luckily, I was able to steer off the road, but all the groceries… my books, and… and Bo went flying into the street.”  
  
An audible gasp broke the breathless silence, and Cook stopped talking. He didn’t want to say anything else and possibly couldn’t.  
  
“So… where… where is Bo now?”  
  
Cook’s eyes fell closed as he answered. “Basically all over the intersection of Morrison and 17th.”  
  
“How…”  
  
“Well, I just said how.”  
  
“How could you do this?” David suddenly sounded indignant.  
  
It took Cook a second to understand David’s tone of voice.  
  
“What! What do you mean how could I do this? It was an accident!”  
  
“Did you strap him in properly? Were you using the padded backpack like we talked about?”  
  
Cook couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he’d had just about enough of David’s safety precaution talks.  
  
“David, look. There was hardly any room on my bike rack. I put him on as well as I could. And I almost died! Like, did you miss that part?”  
  
David huffed -- actually huffed -- and replied, “And Bo _did_ die.”  
  
Cook didn’t know what else to say. The line was silent for a long time before David finally said, “I have to go. I have to pray before I go to bed.”  
  
There wasn’t even a possibility for Cook to say goodbye before the click rang in his ear.  
  


~*~

  
  
David couldn’t manage to get himself up in the morning. He ignored his alarm for over an hour, which meant once he finally pulled himself out of bed he didn’t have time for running or for a shower. It didn’t matter. He was pretty close to not going to school at all. Twenty minutes of glowering at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, however, brought him to the conclusion that if he wasn’t actually sick he should go. And he wasn’t, of course, he just had a broken heart was all.  
  
He managed to get dressed in time to run downstairs and grab his lunch and an apple before running out the door. He’d very nearly forgotten to kiss his mom goodbye if she hadn’t intercepted him at the door.  
  
“Are you okay, mijo? You’re never late.”  
  
David managed to mumble some ridiculous excuse about not sleeping well (it wasn’t exactly a lie) before slipping out the door, only to make it to the bus stop at about 7:24 and thirty seconds. He was still panting as the school bus door creaked open towards him.  
  
Though he ended up being perfectly on time for school, David didn’t want to go into first period. That was home economics, after all, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to see Cook’s stupid face so soon. He was liable to punch him or some other uncharacteristic thing he wouldn’t usually do.  
  
Still, he went into class, head down so he wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone.  
  
Mrs. Green got on with class in the usual way. Though David usually didn’t pay a lot of attention to roll call since he was at the very top of the list, he for the first time noticed Mrs. Green saying, “Cook. Not here? David, do you know if Cook’s running late?”  
  
David glanced up from his notebook, surely looking surprised. Why on earth would he know that? Cook was always late anyway, so it wasn’t exactly a mystery. He cleared his throat.  
  
“I, uh, not that I know of?”  
  
“Okay,” Mrs. Green replied, marking the roll call sheet. “Just thought since you were partners you’d know something. Evans?”  
  
Thirty-five minutes of class rolled by and Cook still hadn’t shown up. Obviously he was too embarrassed to face David, which gave David a slightly smug attitude about the whole thing. Yes, he’d thought about skipping school, but he wasn’t so irresponsible. And he could do without seeing Cook anyway.  
  
The last few minutes of class, Mrs. Green allowed everyone to work on homework as she wandered around checking on people’s assignments. When she got to David she looked concerned.  
  
“Are you okay today, David?”  
  
“What?” David asked, genuinely surprised by her question.  
  
“You look a little tired. Your hair’s all flat.”  
  
David stroked his hair as he said, “Oh, I got up kind of late this morning.”  
  
Mrs. Green nodded understandingly. “Where’s little Bocephus this morning? You know he’s supposed to come to class with you.”  
  
All at once David felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Not only did he feel guilty that he’d forgotten that tiny detail, but by the reminder that Bo didn’t even exist anymore. He’d burst into a million pieces.  
  
“Um, Cook had him over the weekend,” David said. “So… so I guess he’s still got him.”  
  
Mrs. Green smiled and nodded again. David felt terrible. Had that been a lie? He decided it probably counted as one, which made it even worse. He knew perfectly well where Bocephus was, and it wasn’t in care of Mr. David Cook.  
  
“Okay, well, make sure to check in with him after school, all right? If Cook’s sick, you’d better get ahold of Bo so you can take care of him instead.”  
  
Mrs. Green patted David’s shoulder and turned away to talk to someone else. All David could do was sink down in his chair.  
  


~*~

  
  
When David was mad, he cleaned. Scrubbing surfaces was his favorite thing, but Jazzy was on kitchen duty this week and had already done it all. Other than picking up a couple stray socks on the floor, his own room was tidy, so all he could really do was plop himself down in the beanbag chair by his window and cross his arms tightly over his chest.  
  
He was so mad. How could Cook have been so stupid? How could he have just ruined their sugar baby like that? Images of little Bo filled his mind as he wondered if he’d need to arrange a funeral.  
  
At first he didn’t notice the light nicks against his window pane until a loud _thunk_ startled him out of his angry thoughts. For a moment he wondered if a bird had hit the window, but it was dark out so that couldn’t have been it. Another clatter against the glass and David was on his feet, hands pressed against the window. The glare from the neighbor’s garage light obscured everything, so he unlocked the window and pushed it up. As soon as he hung his head out, he had to dodge a small rock hurtling towards his face.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
“Sorry! I didn’t know you were there. I can’t really see.”  
  
David rolled his eyes, tempted to just slam the window back closed. Cook was standing in the side yard like he’d suddenly been cast in _Say Anything_ or something.  
  
“What are you doing?” David hissed. “Forget how doors work?”  
  
“Are your parents gonna let me in at 11pm?”  
  
David pursed his lips, annoyed that Cook was right, though he’d not been totally aware it was quite that late.  
  
“Go away!” David whispered loudly.  
  
“I have something for you!”  
  
“You can give it to me at school tomorrow. Good night!”  
  
David made to close the window for real this time, but Cook persisted.  
  
“I can’t give it to you at school, it has to be now. Will you come down?”  
  
Sighing, David sat back down on the beanbag chair, resting his chin on the window sill. He wondered if Cook would just stand there all night if he didn’t at least let him get out what he’d come to say. Probably. David Cook seemed like that kind of guy.  
  
“Fine,” he relented, hooking his fingers on the window frame. “I’ll be right there.”  
  
Luckily, the rest of the family had gone to bed, but that also meant he’d have to sneak down the stairs, unlock the front door, and ease it open ever so softly. Cook had already made his way around to the front porch. In the dark he was nearly imperceptible given his dark clothes and boots. He’d also brought his backpack as if it were a regular day after school or something.  
  
“Hey,” Cook greeted, obviously trying to sound friendly. “Nice pajamas.”  
  
“What do you want?” David replied bitterly, tugging at the cuffs of his striped pajama shirt.  
  
“I brought you something,” Cook said, gesturing to his backpack. “Um, can we go sit somewhere?”  
  
“Whatever,” David said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Why not? I’ve already snuck out of the house, we might as well go break some laws or something while we’re at it.”  
  
Even in the dark, David could perceive Cook’s hurt expression.  
  
“Archie, I’m sorry you’re mad.”  
  
“Please stop calling me Archie,” David snipped. “And I wouldn’t be mad if you hadn’t _killed our baby_.”  
  
“David,” Cook said, sounding heartbroken. “I didn’t… I didn’t do it on purpose. You know I didn’t. It was an accident.”  
  
“I don’t even want to say it again,” David said, “but you’re so careless, I can’t believe it. Though I don’t know why I’m surprised, actually.”  
  
Now Cook’s eyes matched his hurt tone of voice. “What… what’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
David didn’t want to answer, mostly because he felt the answer was so obvious. Cook was a guy who never planned anything, who turned homework in late, whose student calendar was as crisp and unused as the day it’d been issued to him. So obviously -- _obviously_ \-- this was a guy who was gonna mess stuff up, who didn’t take precautions. David had trusted him, but it still happened.  
  
“Nothing,” David murmured, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Are we done here? It’s getting cold and I have to be up in five hours.”  
  
Cook still looked sheepish, but he obliged by slipping his backpack off onto the porch swing and opening it up. Carefully, he pulled out something that looked so terribly familiar that David gasped when it saw it: a five pound bag of sugar with green crinkle-cut hair and diamond-blue eyes.  
  
“What…” David muttered breathlessly. “What is that?”  
  
“I stayed home today ‘cause I was remaking Bo,” Cook replied quietly. “I tried to make him just like the original, but I might have forgotten a couple things. But I think he’ll pass.”  
  
David couldn’t believe his eyes. He also couldn’t believe the contradicting feelings he was experiencing. Making a new sugar baby was so obviously against the rules, yet the fact that Cook had stayed home from school touched him as well. It was confusing to say the least.  
  
“We can’t… we can’t take… _that_ ,” David pointed at Bo #2, “to school with us. Are you crazy? I’ve never cheated a day in my life.”  
  
Cook swallowed hard, clutching poor little Bo #2 to his chest. “Please don’t be mad, David. I was just… I just wanted to fix everything.”  
  
“Please just take that back home and make a cake with it or something.” David’s words were firm, but not as harsh as before.  
  
“I’m sorry, David,” Cook said again.  
  
David sighed. “It’s okay,” he relented. “We’ll tell Mrs. Green what happened in the morning. Go home and get some sleep.”  
  
Perhaps the saddest thing David had ever seen in his young life was the sight of Cook descending the steps of the front porch, backpack over one shoulder, sugar sack clutched in one hand with the full moon shining through his flyaway hair.  
  


~*~

  
  
David could hardly sleep. Sure, Cook had made him angry about the whole making-a-fake-baby replacement, but after he’d trudged back upstairs to his room, a sinking sensation weighed on him. Cook had tried to make David happier after the accident. He’d gone out of his way to do it too, skipped school and everything. And while David would never condone such a thing, it really should have meant more to him.  
  
He sighed as he plopped down on the edge of his bed. The dark sky caught his eye and he thought about Cook walking home now, head hanging and sad.  
  
Dang it, he could be really dumb sometimes.  
  
Though he tried to lay down, David couldn’t fall asleep. He tried reading, watching something on his computer, then just staring at the ceiling. He saw his bedside clock flip over to 3 am before finally drifting off, uneasy feelings still coursing through his veins.  
  
Six o’clock came way too early, of course, even if he did usually get up at five to go running. But it also came with a certain kind of urgency. Bad dreams had made David feel even worse about snapping at Cook, so although he was absolutely groggy, he did his best to hurry through getting ready. He wanted to get to school quickly, to talk to Cook as soon as possible. He at least needed to apologize, if not more.  
  
At 7:10, David found himself eagerly pacing by the front door. He had a few minutes to spare and his nerves were wreaking havoc on his entire body. His fingers had smoothed over the surface of his cell phone about forty times before something dawned on him. Cook was always late to school. Always. If that were the case today as well, he wouldn’t have a chance to really talk to him until at least lunch time, which wasn’t a guarantee either. But he had Cook’s phone number saved in his phone. So he decided to call him.  
  
A groggy, nearly unrecognizable voice answered after five rings with, “Andy, if this is you, we’re gonna have words.”  
  
David froze up.  
  
“Um, Cook? This… this is David.”  
  
A pause so long that David though Cook had hung up on him followed. Then there was a sniff and a rustling of what sounded like blankets.  
  
“Hi. What’s up? What time is it?”  
  
“Um, 7:12,” David answered, wondering if Cook was still in bed. “I’ve gotta catch the bus, but I just wanted to… um.”  
  
There was a sigh and a yawn and then, “Wanted to… ?” Cook sounded more than grouchy.  
  
“Talk to you,” David finished, apparently realizing he didn’t know what he wanted to say specifically.  
  
Cook sniffed again. “Well, we’re talking,” he said gruffly.  
  
A lot of times David hesitated in speaking, unsure of what he’d say at any given time. And then sometimes he’d just get going and ramble endlessly. This seemed to be one of those times.  
  
“Okay, well, I feel badly that I snapped at you last night, and I realized later that you worked really hard on trying to fix things even though it wasn’t really right, and I shouldn’t have been so mean to you, and--”  
  
“David, David, David,” came Cook’s rushed reply. “Dude, that’s too much for me only being awake for two minutes.”  
  
“I… sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Cook said softly. “Look, it’s 7:15. Go catch your bus. I’ll see you at school. We can have lunch together if we don’t get a chance to talk during class.”  
  
David swallowed hard, a little unsure of what he was hearing. “That… would be great,” he said, feeling some relief pour over him. “Oh shoot, it’s 7:16, gotta go!”  
  
David could’ve sworn he heard a faint chuckle before he hung up the phone.  
  


~*~

  
  
Sort of miraculously, Cook slid into his seat exactly as the bell was ringing, which garnered a surprised/impressed look from David. It didn’t go unnoticed by Cook, who grinned sheepishly at his friend. At some point during Mrs. Green’s ten minute introduction, Cook’s desk seemed to creep its way closer to David’s, though it was also possible that David was hallucinating. (He’d only gotten three hours of sleep and missed his morning run, after all.)  
  
When the time came for Mrs. Green to check on all the groups, both Cook and David froze like deer in headlights.  
  
“How’s it going on Team David?” she asked kindly as she took a seat next to them.  
  
“Well,” Cook began, clearly still embarrassed by what he’d done. He cupped the back of his neck with a hand and tried to look anywhere but at Mrs. Green.  
  
“We, uh, had a problem,” David managed to say.  
  
“Oh?” Mrs. Green said, brow raising.  
  
“Yeah, Little Bo, uh, got hurt… sorta,” David fumbled.  
  
“How hurt?” their teacher questioned.  
  
“Perhaps more than a little,” Cook admitted, doodling on a piece of notebook paper.  
  
“Like, surgery level injured?” Mrs. Green inquired.  
  
“Like, no piece of him was ever found again,” David finally choked out.  
  
Mrs. Green’s eyes went as big as saucers. “What happened?”  
  
“I was riding my bike home,” Cook explained, “and I almost got hit by this car, right? Anyway, I crashed and Bo went flying and--”  
  
“And he’s kind of in a billion pieces,” David finished for him.  
  
Miraculously, Mrs. Green smiled.  
  
“It’s okay guys, you’re not the first, and certainly won’t be the last, to have something like that happen. But instead of doing your summary presentation, you’ll need to do one on a related topic.” Mrs. Green chuckled lightly when David made a horrified face. “Don’t worry, David, I don’t think you deserve a topic like child neglect or anything like that. It’s clear it was an accident. Maybe just child safety in transportation, okay?”  
  
David nodded, firmly biting his lip, and Cook let out a tremendous sigh. It was funny, because David hadn’t up until this point pegged Cook as someone who would’ve worried so much about it at all. In fact, Cook had been the one who had tried to tell him it wasn’t a big deal way back at the beginning of their troubles.  
  
The rest of the morning went comparatively smoothly. David got his math exam back with a 92 written at the top, his biology teacher used his homework example on the board, and his Spanish teacher asked him if his mom wouldn’t mind coming to class to do a talk about Honduras. By lunch he’d nearly forgotten the tragedy that was home ec class.  
  
Mrs. Archuleta always made her kids’ lunches, and because it was high school, most of the upper classmen didn’t bother to even set foot in the cafeteria longer than they had to. This left David exactly zero reason to go in there, and he was just about to take the steps up to the library when he remembered that he was supposed to meet Cook. Or, at least, he thought he was. They hadn’t exactly discussed it since 7:15 that morning, and Cook wasn’t even awake when he’d said that, so David panicked a little wondering if he should seek him out in the cafeteria or what.  
  
He lingered awkwardly outside the cafeteria doors, occasionally having to dodge kids shoving through as if they’d never heard of the possibility of other humans being there before. At one point, David thought he saw Cook’s friends, Andy and Neal, and he sort of nervously watched them both wander over to the big oak tree that stood outside the front of the school. Biting his lip, he tried to see if Cook was over there.  
  
“Hey!” came a voice from behind him, which made him almost drop his lunch on the ground. “Looking for someone?”  
  
David whirled around to find Cook grinning at him like an idiot.  
  
“You scared me!” David exclaimed, catching his breath. He gripped his lunch bag even tighter. “I, uh, was just, thinking about where…” David didn’t finish the sentence because he didn’t want to presume Cook was joining him, especially since the friend he thought was Neal was waving at Cook now.  
  
“Where do you usually go?” Cook asked, apparently completely oblivious to Neal.  
  
“Um, Mr. Yamada lets me sit in the library, even though people aren’t usually allowed to eat in there,” David answered quietly.  
  
Cook nodded. “Cool, let’s go.”  
  
That was it. _Cool, let’s go._ Something about those three words made David’s heart skip a beat.  
  
“Don’t you have your lunch?” David asked as they turned back into the building.  
  
“Yeah,” Cook said, gesturing to his backpack.  
  
When the two of them entered the library, Mr. Yamada greeted them kindly, his brow raising at the sight of Cook walking past him. David secretly wondered if Cook had ever even been in there outside of class but was too afraid to ask.  
  
“I like to sit by the Ficus,” David said, putting his lunch bag down on the table there. Cook followed, dropping his bag on the floor and then rummaging through it for his lunch. Lunch turned out to be a generous word, however; he only took out two things, a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a Mountain Dew.  
  
David eyed him for a few seconds before saying something. “Um, is that it?”  
  
Cook apparently didn’t get what was wrong. “Yeah?” He took a huge gulp of his soda.  
  
“That’s crazy,” David said, immediately digging into his lunch bag. He carefully laid everything out, taking the extra napkin his mom always included and putting half of his tuna sandwich on it before pushing it in Cook’s direction.  
  
“What’s this?” Cook asked, taken aback.  
  
“Tuna fish. Eat it.”  
  
“I’m not gonna eat your lunch,” Cook replied, pushing the sandwich half back. It merely gave David the opportunity to add a half a string cheese and two cookies to the napkin. He pushed it back.  
  
“Archie…”  
  
The way Cook said ‘Archie’ stung his heart in a good way, and he was secretly glad Cook had gone back to calling him that.  
  
“There’s plenty here!” David protested. “Seriously, there’s a thing of baby carrots in here too. Want some?”  
  
Cook just stared at him.  
  
“Sounds like I should stop while I’m ahead.”  
  
“That’s probably a good idea,” David replied seriously. There was a beat of silence and then he looked up to find Cook gazing at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You, Archuleta.”  
  
David’s fingers fumbled with the straw of his juice box. “What… what about me?”  
  
But all Cook did was smile and shake his head before taking a giant bite of the tuna sandwich.  
  
“You’re weird,” David said, more out of feeling like he should say something than anything else.  
  
Another moment of silence passed, during which David caught himself mindlessly stirring his pudding cup. Cook was fiddling with his bag of chips when David finally broke the silence.  
  
“So, like, I’m really sorry,” he said, tapping his spoon on the edge of the plastic cup. Cook looked up, his bangs (which were actually starting to regain their natural color for once) hanging across his eyes. Gah, why did that make David feel so weird in his stomach, anyway?  
  
“Archie, honestly,” he said, flicking his hair out of his face. “It’s fine.”  
  
“It’s not fine!” David said loudly, immediately realizing he’d overreacted. “I mean, I was really mean to you, so I’m sorry.”  
  
“Well, we’re cool, okay?” Cook said, shoving some chips into his mouth. “I shouldn’t have tried to cheat.”  
  
“Yeah, but…” David trailed, suddenly not wanting a single bite of anything in his lunch. He felt too guilty. “Like, you worked hard. You were trying to cheer me up and I just totally brushed it off. It was…”  
  
Cook swallowed his mouthful of chips and watched David thoughtfully.  
  
“What?” he asked.  
  
David could barely look Cook in the eye, but snuck an embarrassed look up at him anyway.  
  
“It was sweet.”  
  
Cook’s eyes went wide for a half-second before he regained himself and coolly replied, “Yeah, let’s not let that get around, huh? I have a reputation to uphold around here.”  
  
This totally caught David off-guard and he laughed really loudly.  
  
“What reputation?” he gasped, clutching his stomach. “I mean… _what_?”  
  
“I have a reputation!” Cook replied, though he was laughing too now. “Stop! Stop laughing at me, Archuleta!”  
  
But David couldn’t help it. It was like something had broken inside of him, like some web of stress and anxiety had just burst and all his tight little threads were suddenly unraveling.  
  
“Stop laughing!” Cook threw one of his Doritos at him.  
  
“Hey!” David protested, picking up a baby carrot and tossing it across the table, which hit Cook square between his eyes.  
  
“Oh, that’s it, Archuleta!”  
  
“Boys! What’s going on over there!”  
  
Both Davids froze in their spots, half out of their chairs, each straining to hold their laughter.  
  
“Sorry, Mr. Yamada!” they said in unison.  
  


~*~

  
  
For the next week the two Davids worked like a well-oiled machine to complete the extra work that needed to be done for their final essay and class presentation. For the first time all year, Cook took detailed notes and even put reminders into his phone. David didn’t know what had gotten into him, but didn’t want to risk pointing it out just in case it made him stop.  
  
David also continued to ask about Cook’s family every single day just to make sure things were going all right. Cook always answered positively and didn’t miss any more days of school, so David finally relaxed a little about it. It didn’t, however, keep him from wondering what other mysteries Cook kept from the world about himself. Instead of making Cook seem like a moody punk rock kid with oddly colored hair, David found him more intriguing, and actually changed his view on a lot of people at school that he didn’t know very well.  
  
At the end of their presentation, the class had a lot of good questions, which David and Cook were able to field with absolute perfection. Though they weren’t supposed to know their grades until later on, Mrs. Green secretly mouthed “A+” at them from the back of the room, to which David couldn’t help but beam brightly.  
  
As they sat back down in their seats, David felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that their project was over. He glanced at Cook for a fleeting second, his heart hurting a little that he wouldn’t have any reason to hang out with Cook every day after school anymore. For a brief moment, David could’ve sworn he saw the same in Cook’s eyes as well.  
  
The rest of the day flew by. Not only did Mrs. Green not give any homework for the first time in a month, but neither did any of David’s other teachers. As he exited the school at the last bell, the sun was shining and the air was cool and pleasant -- the perfect combination for a relaxed afternoon reading on the public library’s expansive mezzanine level. He was walking briskly to the line-up of school buses when he suddenly heard someone calling him from behind.  
  
“Hey, Archie! Archie! Wait up!”  
  
David turned around, fully aware that his bus was the next one to leave and that he’d better get on it right _now_. But it was amazing how quickly that fact flew out of his brain when he saw Cook running towards him, backpack slipping off his shoulder and with one of his boot laces untied.  
  
“Archie, I was hoping I’d catch you before you were gone.”  
  
David was absolutely puzzled. Their project was over. They’d turned in their report about their experience and made their presentation about childhood accidents. It was officially time for Cook to go back to hanging out with Neal and Andy and for David to go back to spending all his free time staring at his computer in his room.  
  
“Um, okay,” he replied, sort of stupidly. “What’s up?”  
  
“Well, I just, uh, I wondered if you wanted to come over?” Cook squinted into the afternoon sun and raised a hand to shield his eyes.  
  
“Uhhh.” David had frozen on the spot, and for some reason his heart began racing. “Our project is done though,” he said finally.  
  
Cook gave him a quizzical look. “Yeah, well, duh. I want you to come over and hang out? Sometimes on Fridays we order pizza and watch movies, which we are tonight.”  
  
David probably hadn’t been invited to someone else’s house for movies since he was twelve or something. And now Cook was? What was happening?  
  
Cook adjusted his backpack strap and brushed his purple hair out of his eyes. “Maybe you could stay over?”  
  
At this suggestion, David choked on literally nothing. “What… are you sure?”  
  
“Archie…” Cook said, sounding slightly let down. “I thought… we’ve got something going here, right? Am I wrong?”  
  
David wasn’t completely clear on what “something” meant, but even if it just meant friendship, David wanted that really, really badly. He had such a hard time making any friends at all, and Cook was so at the top of his list of potential long-term friends. Potential friends and also potential -- yes, he’d finally decided -- more than friends. But that was a daydream, right? _Right_?  
  
“Well, no, I… I just thought like, we’re so different so I didn’t think…”  
  
In one fluid motion, Cook dropped his backpack on the ground and reached his hand up, cupping it around the back of David’s neck. Right there in the middle of all 1500 students of Woodrow Wilson High School clamboring for their rides home, Cook planted his lips on David’s and must have held him there for upwards of twenty terrifying seconds.  
  
After pulling away, all David could do was stare, which Cook apparently found really funny. Breathing wasn’t something David knew how to do anymore, which immediately resulted in him feeling very lightheaded.  
  
“I,” he stammered, blinking more than usual. “My bus… I need to…”  
  
“Your bus left like three minutes ago, dude,” Cook chuckled. “I’ll give you a ride though.”  
  
Every sentence of this conversation was becoming more confusing than the one before.  
  
“What, on your bike?”  
  
“Yeah, just hop on the back, no problem.”  
  
“Cook, that’s so dangerous!”  
  
David Cook very nearly collapsed on the ground he was laughing so hard.  
  
  


~*~


End file.
